To begin
by coeurgryffondor
Summary: "No. You have learned Spanish for me; I will learn German for you, even if it is the last thing I do." Roderich is very wary of how close that last part is to coming to fruition. / Prequel to "To begin again". Historical SpAus.


Author's note: Prequel to « To begin again ». Historical SpAus.

In my headcanon Antonio was the one that really helped Roderich come into his own. They're a secret weakness of mine that doesn't get enough love for the adoration they possess for each other. And when I requested Roderich prompts on Tumblr, the responses were all for SpAus.

* * *

**To begin**

The Spaniard's doublet has fuller sleeves to the Austrian's small ones, a short jerkin where his was long. The other nation wears bright reds and yellows; Roderich had opted for purple, the one vaguely fashionable color that he feels nice and comfortable in.

He's nervous; he had been married before but always left to be in Vienna, never really expected to consummate anything with anyone. Because he had been younger, but now he's sixteen. Now he's marrying another nation.

The ceremony is small since it is between two men, the priest raising his eyebrows but saying nothing. The church had special rules for the nearly all-male nations: they could be married but they could not share a bed. Yet the way his new husband's fingers brush against the back of his hand, or that wicked grin, all make Roderich blush and think that maybe, just maybe, the Spaniard had forgotten that caveat.

Not confident enough in his Spanish Roderich finds himself alone by a window in some hall, hiding. A hand on his shoulder makes him jump.

"Look at you," and the hand runs down to finger the jewels of Roderich's collar. His husband (oh God that sounded weird in his head) speaks in hushed French. "You understand when I speak like this, yes?"

"Yes," the Austrian manages to stutter. "I am sorry that my Spanish is not–"

"Forget about it," the other boy soothes, seventeen years of age. "You speak many languages already; I should apologize for not having advanced my German so much before your arrival."

"You are learning German?" Roderich did get all jumbled up switching between so many languages when it would just be so much easier to have someone to speak to in German.

His husband smiles, stroking his cheek. "What do they call you, Erzherzogtum Österreich?"

"Roderich."

"Roderich," the boy repeats, trying to pronounce it the way he had. He half-laughs at his failed attempt, trying again before finally sighing. "Rodrigo."

"If that is easier," and he bows his head to show his reverence.

"Do not spoil me," the Spaniard warns, "I may start to expect it. I am Antonio; how would you say that in German?"

"Anton." A name for the one Roderich was to be left in the care of. Now he knew why the young ladies always seemed so panicked as their fathers had them sent off to be married.

"Anton," and Antonio manages that name with much greater ease. "Shall I show you my chambers then Rodrigo?"

* * *

When they finish in Antonio's private parlor Roderich knows he had purposely skipped the bedroom. His heart beat is racing, his face burning red; he closes his eyes as he stands before the great fireplace to try and calm his nerves. He could do this, if this was what Antonio wanted. The Austrian did have to admit that the man was beautiful, handsome in a way that shouldn't be allowed. His skin is so much darker than Roderich is used to, their accidental brushes against one another making his stomach tighten all afternoon.

He hears the breathing before he feels the hands on his shoulder. "Rodrigo?"

Turning in that touch with a face open and honest, Roderich only searches a moment for confirmation that this was what the Spaniard wanted before he wraps his arms around Antonio's neck and kisses him the best he can, stepping to him so that their bodies press against each other. Arms pull him closer, a log snapping in the hearth.

A moan of approval against his lips and then Antonio pulls back, beginning to remove him of his outer layers. Right, they couldn't really do this with ease all dressed up. Could they do this at all? Roderich contemplates how two men could do… that, as Spanish hands continue to strip him down, removing his own fine garments as well. In just his chemise and hose the Austrian finally comes back to attention.

"You are funny," Antonio notes. "What are you thinking of?"

Roderich swallows, embarrassed, his gaze falling to the floor. A hand pulls his chin back up, the Austrian pushing his face into the touch automatically because it just feels so good. "I have never–"

Lips cut off his answer, the slightly taller boy pulling him in for a strong embrace. Roderich melts into him.

* * *

On the bed hands guide him, his whole flesh burning red hot, ass in the air. Kisses sear up and down his back, Antonio's bare chest pressing against him. It feels weird; Roderich kind of likes it, but it still feels weird.

"Confession," the Spaniard murmurs against the back of his shoulder. Something very hard and very big is pressing into his ass but Roderich nods despite the distraction. "I have never done this in particular with anyone before."

"Then how do you–"

"Know what to do?" Antonio kisses his lips though the angle is awkward for the Austrian's neck. "I have done other things," he grins deviously.

"Oh." Somehow Roderich finds that disappointing to think about. Of course Antonio had been with others before; he wasn't exclusively Roderich's after all.

Sensing this the Spaniard consoles, "I never wanted him, or anyone, the way I want you."

And with that the speaking stops and the consummation begins.

* * *

He's exhausted and his body aches and his ass aches double that. Beside him the Spaniard seems prepared to just go right to sleep, so Roderich hides under the sheets on his side of the bed.

"I like you," the other boy murmurs sleepily, reaching out a hand that Roderich takes. "If you do not wish to stay in my bed you do not have to, but if you are willing I would like to hold you."

The Austrian digests that, working through all his options before deciding to shift closer and let Antonio wrap him up in his olive arms. "I like you too," he confesses quietly into the night. A kiss is planted to the top of his head.

* * *

The trip through the kingdom delights Roderich immensely, splitting the day between mornings spent on horseback beside Antonio, holding his hand, and afternoons spent in the carriage alongside Antonio, making out furiously. Normally Roderich ends up on the Spanish lap, drawing the curtains to give them privacy, though there have been a few times his husband ended up on his lap, allowing him to try something new.

Roderich quite liked when Antonio fell to his knees the most.

Mainly what Roderich loves is the feeling of comfort in his own body that he's never felt before. His husband likes to tell him that his skin is as precious as cool milk to a thirsty man in summer, or that his voice is like the finest of tuned instruments the world has ever heard. Roderich truly believes Antonio's words.

At night they lay in bed in each other's arms, chests calming. It's blurry without his glasses on but he can still see the green of his husband's eyes, can still trace the bridge of his nose down to the tip.

"Do not leave me," the man sighs, kissing Roderich gently, holding him sweetly. "I could not bare to be apart from you, my precious Ruy."

"Come with me," the Austrian begs. He had to return to Vienna, had duties to perform there. He never thought he'd so hate the idea of returning to his home.

"It would take a while to get permission from the right officials," Antonio begins but Roderich cuts him off with a kiss of his own, rolling them to lay atop his chest.

"I am... patient," he murmurs smugly.

"Then I will ask," Antonio finally smiles. "Oh Ruy, how did I live before you came into my life?" That makes his husband grin without care.

* * *

As they prepare to retire for the night, so close to Vienna yet still so far, a visitor comes calling.

"Antoine," a man sighs as if the word was silk, holding his arms out to embrace the Spaniard. Roderich's husband tenses, squeezing the hand he had been holding as they say having dinner.

"What are you doing here?" he near-hisses. When the man, maybe a year or two older in appearance than Antonio, decides that the man-in-question would not be coming to him he comes further into the room.

"Can a man not visit his lover?" and he kisses Antonio's cheek, winking at Roderich, before heading towards the window

"What? I am not his lover," his husband immediately says, turning completely to face Roderich. "Do not listen to him, he is angry I would not be untrue to you with him–"

"Nonsense, Antoine, you never could resist my charms. Why do you try and insist on anything else?"

"Can you stop it‽" the Spaniard snaps, slamming his hands on the table. Both Roderich and the intruder are stunned to see this side of the calm, good-natured nation. "I finally have," Antonio starts in a snarl directed towards the intruder, "one good thing in my life, Francisco, and here you come trying to take it from me. Sometimes I wonder why I ever considered you important to me."

The man at the window fidgets with his hat, placing it back on his head, and huffing. "Well if that is what you have decided," and, without finishing the thought, leaves.

Knowing words would not speak as loudly as action Roderich rises to move around the table, sitting on his husband's lap and wrapping his arms around his neck. "Tell me you are mine and mine alone," he whispers in low Spanish he has tried so hard to learn, "and I will forget all of this."

"I," and Antonio pulls his face level with his. "I love you, Ruy. I love only you."

"Then I believe you," and Roderich kisses the desperate-looking man to chase away any last doubt.

* * *

Here Roderich is in his element, Antonio slightly put-off by the foreign customs. But the Austrian just smiles and guides him, murmuring instructions in Spanish. The women all take to his husband quickly at least.

That night he takes Antonio for the first time, and it feels so incredibly good he never wants it to stop. Laying on his back and taking in his ceiling Roderich replays it over and over again in his head, wanting to cherish every last moment.

"You are funny," the Spaniard sighs from beside the window, naked, taking in the landscape around them. "I would ask of what you are thinking, but I feel I already know the truth." The moonlight illuminates his grin.

"Te amo," Roderich sighs dreamily, shifting to more fully face Antonio. His husband smiles, slinking towards the bed and crawling atop him to steal a kiss.

"Ich liebe dich."

* * *

Very quickly the Spaniard becomes frustrated with the language. "Perhaps we should stop here for today," Roderich, now more confident in their relationship, sighs. He makes to remove Antonio's hands from the book but his husband stops him, pushing him away.

"No. You have learned Spanish for me; I will learn German for you, even if it is the last thing I do."

Roderich is very wary of how close that last part is to coming to fruition.

* * *

Rising he pulls on his robe, leaving the bedroom for its adjoining room in search of his husband. Late morning light streams in through the window. "Anton?" he calls out, yawning, before he finds his husband and someone else.

Two sets of green eyes fall on him: the one set is wide and happy, Roderich not having seen Erzsi for a very long time; the other pair of eyes are wary.

"We were becoming acquainted," Antonio sighs, none of his useful warmth in his words as he speaks in Spanish. Not understanding him Erzsi looks to Roderich, smiling.

"I wanted to visit before you left again," she easily manages in German. That only makes Antonio look more upset, eyeing the Hungarian cautiously.

"Yes, well." Roderich very much wishes he had pulled on more than just his robe before coming out. "Erzsi, this is my husband, Antonio Fernández Carriedo, Reino de España." Rising the Hungarian kingdom bows deeply; Antonio only nods his head. "Antonio this is Héderváry Erzsébet, Magyar Királyság."

"Another language," the other man observes and Roderich somehow feels guilty for knowing Hungarian.

In a flat voice the Austrian says, "Only a little. Erzsi prefers to speak in German rather than have me butcher her native language, which is completely understandable."

"Well then," and Antonio rises, "I have some things to attend to that I best start on." He leaves without kissing his husband, which doesn't bode well.

* * *

That night Roderich gives him an earful. "She is my friend! You know how hard it is for me to make friends!"

"I thought Hungary was a man!" Antonio counters from the bed.

"We all thought she was a man! But she's not."

"Clearly. Do you like her?" Here we go, this was what the Austrian had been expecting all day. "Do you like her with her breasts and her hips and her feminine charm?"

"No you idiot!" and he pins the Spaniard to the bed, holding him despite the struggle against his hands. "Anything I ever may have felt for Erzsi disappeared the moment I saw you. I love you, you idiot, though you clearly do not deserve it."

Antonio stops struggling, taking Roderich in with narrowed eyes before sighing. "I am sorry. I was jealous."

"Of what? Her lack of power? Her constant control by foreign land? You are a mighty and strong kingdom like she will never be, you are so much more than that!" Roderich doesn't mean to be so cruel to Erzsi, whom he does love because there's something warm to her, something easy, but it's only come out of him since he's been with Antonio as if now he and she were finally seeing each other clearly for the first time.

"Forgive me?" the man beneath him moans. Relenting Roderich sighs, collapsing on Antonio's chest.

"There is nothing to forgive; you know I can never stay angry with you."

"I will never let you go," and legs intertwine, hips rolling up against his.

"Good," and their lips meet to silence any more words.

* * *

Two copies of the portrait are made, one for each of their chambers in different capitals. The couple does not wish to part but understand they must, Roderich with his arms around Antonio's neck, Antonio with his around Roderich's hips.

Noses nuzzle, lips meeting over and over in lazy, unrushed kisses. They cannot put off the inevitable, but they can try.

"I will see you in a few months," the Spaniard finally sighs, kissing Roderich deeply, threading his hands through the dark hair and gripping it tight.

"I will count the days and hours until your return," the paler one replies, kissing him again, tongues swirling together.

"You are my husband," Antonio finally states, pulling back, "and I do not care what anyone says, we will never fall apart."

"Forever," Roderich smiles. "I love you."

"I love you too."

And with that they step away from each other until their hands fall apart. Roderich closes his eyes, turning and making his way to his carriage. He knows Antonio is doing the same, horses drawing them in opposite directions. They would still have more days and months and years to spend together, but they had completely their beginning and the Austrian is quite happy with it, plucking at his short red and yellow jerkin. Settling in he imagines Antonio in a longer purple one and is content as the horses begin to pull.


End file.
